


Baby, You’re a Full Grown Man

by amalnahurriyeh



Series: Jack and Bitty’s Adventures in Stripper Unionizing [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Meeting the ex, Parent-Child Relationship, Parents With Absolutely No Boundaries (But In A Nice Way), Weddings, complicated family relationships, the sequel no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-13 08:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amalnahurriyeh/pseuds/amalnahurriyeh
Summary: Jack, Bitty, and their parents: a set of vignettes.(Begins mid-stream of Prove To Me You Got Some Coordination and continues after. Will make frightfully little sense if you haven’t read that.)





	1. and your mama takes a shine to her best son

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so, I made an offhand joke about Jack getting some of the money to buy Wildcats from his parents, and then this happened. 
> 
> It’ll have three chapters and one interlude between chapters 2 & 3, so expect it to be posted over the next few days. Please be forewarned that the progression is comedy => angst => comedy => warm fuzzies. 
> 
> English between « guillemets » is French; all French written as French will be translated in the endnotes. 
> 
> Title and section titles from Scissors Sisters’ song [Take Your Mama](https://youtu.be/od7-fyGa9DQ), which, incidentally, was the the mother-daughter dance song at my wedding. So, uh, shout out to my mom? She’s never getting to see this tho. The video is really great, so even if you know the song, if you haven’t seen it, go enjoy the whatever ness of it.
> 
> Shout out to Leigh and Welder, as always, for betaing from next to me on the couch.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bob! Viens ici, Eric est sur le FaceTime, Jack veut qu’on le taquine un peu.”

Jack stared at his phone. Okay. There was only one way to get this done. He’d spoken to his broker, he’d converted everything he could into cash, but he and Shitty had done the research and the club just had to be valued at least fifty thousand dollars more than he was able to make liquid on short notice. And yes, technically he might not have needed everything liquid in the next 24 hours but these were _mobsters_ who demonstrably had _no ethical compass_ , and he didn’t think they’d be willing to wait until a check cleared. So, he needed cash, he needed it today, and his parents were rich as fuck. 

He took a deep breath and called. “Allô, maman?”

« Darling! » his mother said. « This is a surprise. Everything alright? »

« Euh, yes? » he said, and then hurried to say « I mean, I’m fine, nothing is wrong, I’m just...calling for a favor? »

« Anything for you, my dear. What is it? »

Jack hadn’t gotten that far. He can’t say _give me a hundred thousand dollars so I can buy a strip club because my friend is sad_ , even though that’s literally exactly what he wants them to do. « Do you...do you guys still have a Google Alert set up for my name? » Maybe if they’ve already seen the news piece from last weekend he can ease into it.

« Of course. »

Oh, good. « So you saw the story about The Haus. »

« The...house? Tu vas acheter un maison? »

Shit. « You didn’t see the story. »

« Jack? Are you alright, sweetheart? »

Now that he’d latched onto the idea of letting that journalist do the heavy lifting, he couldn’t bring himself to actually say anything. « Look, I’m going to just...send you this news story I’m quoted in, and then call me back and we can talk about it. »

« You’re sure everything is alright, darling? »

« Yes, it’ll be fine. Just...anyway. Call me back. » He hung up, found the tab where he had the story open (sometimes he just liked to watch it. Bitty sounded so smart) and texted it to the group chat with his parents.

Of course, then he had the miserable wait while they watched it. And probably talked about it, and they were going to call back and stage an intervention, he should have found another plan—

His phone lit up with a FaceTime request, so he answered it. Both his parents were leaning into the camera, with the light of their kitchen window behind them. « Salut? » he said, a bit nervously.

« Those poor dancers! » his mother said. « Those owners are absolute monsters. »

« I know it’s America, but surely there is some kind of labor relations board they can turn to? » his father said. 

Jack could feel the anxiety leave his shoulders. « They aren’t even employees, they’re contractors. » Both his parents made disgusted noises. « The customers are starting to get violent with the strikers. And the owners are mafia, and they’ve got enforcers. »

« You’ve got enforcers, » his dad said speculatively. 

He saw his opening. « Yes, but I think I see a better way. »

« Oh? »

« I want to buy the place, » he said in a rush. « Shitty and I can write a contract where we just pay them off and take over. And then the dancers and the other workers can set it up how they want it. »

His parents both looked thoughtful. « It would probably be a good investment long term, » his mother said slowly.

« Would there be trouble with the team? » his dad asked.

« Shitty read my contract and is pretty sure that as long as I keep distance between the team image and my personal investments it’s fine.  And Georgia knows all about what I’ve been doing. » He omitted the fact that she mostly wanted to kill him over it.

His parents looked at each other. « How much do you need? » his mom said. 

***

« I’m looking at your schedule, » Maman said as Jack was doing laundry, « You don’t have any games for a few days around Passover. Do you two want to come up? It would be great to do it as a family. »

« I’m not sure, » Jack said, trying to make sure he emptied all of Bitty’s pockets. The time he’d washed a credit card and three lucky-but-broken keychains in a single load had not been pleasant. « I don’t know if Bitty can get away from the club. Holster’s a pretty good assistant manager though, so I can ask. » He measured the detergent and kicked the thing on. 

« Please do. I’ll need to get a brisket ordered soon if we’re doing a whole thing. Do you want to see your Blayman cousins? »

« Not unless they’ve gotten less awful, » Jack said, hunting around the apartment for Bitty. « Or if you really want to lord it over them for some reason. »

« Oh, darling, you act like I don’t get to do that every phone call. »

Bitty was in the kitchen pantry staring at an assortment of boxes like he was doing advanced calculus. «Give me a second, let me ask him, » Jack said, and pulled the phone away from his ear. “Bits,” he said. “Could you take the weekend off in, like, three weeks?”

Bitty glanced over at their heavily annotated wall calendar. “Hmm. Easter weekend. Usually holiday weekends are pretty busy. You know, people avoiding their families, escaping dramatic family dinners, feeling guilty, that sort of thing. Might be rough.”

“Okay,” Jack said, and lifted the phone back to his head. « I don’t think so, sounds like the club will be too busy. »

“Je pense que non what?” Bitty said.

“My mom was inviting us up for Passover. It’s not a big deal, we can go some other time,” Jack said. Bitty stared, and his jaw might have dropped open a little bit. Jack squinted. “Bud?” At Bitty’s prolonged silence, Jack turned back to the phone. « Mom, can I call you right back? »

« Sure. I need to know about brisket by Friday, though. »

« It’s Tuesday, Mom. I really mean right back.»

« Uh-huh. Ciao, » his mother said, and hung up. 

“Bits?” Jack said. “What’s up? You’re kind of staring.”

“Your mom.” Bitty said, and gestured at the phone. “Your mom was inviting you to come up for the holidays.”

“Both of us,” Jack said. 

“I think I need to sit down,” Bitty said. Jack kicked him the stepstool, and Bitty dropped down onto it. “Your parents...they know we’re dating, right?”

“We’ve been living together three months, bud. Also I might talk about you every ten minutes. It’s...pretty clear.”

“And they know about the club? Don’t answer that, I know they know about the club. But they...” Bitty seemed to run out of words. 

Jack was starting to get it. “They know about the club. They know you’re a dancer. They know we’re together. They want to meet you. That’s honestly it.”

Bitty leaned his face up towards the ceiling. “Okay. Yeah. That’s...that’s a thing.”

“A good thing?” Jack sat down on the floor in front of Bitty and reached out to stroke his knee. 

“I don’t know,” Bitty said. “I mean, yes, obviously it’s a good thing because it means we don’t have to, I don’t know, come up with an elaborate cover story. But it’s also an extremely confusing thing. Because—I mean, _I_ obviously don’t have any problem with what I do for a living, but I’m fairly used to _other people_ having problems with it. And, you know. You’re their pride and joy and I’m just...” 

“You’re amazing,” Jack said. 

“And you’re ridiculous,” Bitty said. “Okay. Sorry. I just needed to have a moment. I don’t trust Holster with the club for a holiday weekend, so if that’s when we’d be going, I don’t think I can.“

“You want me to ask them to come down?”

Bitty rolled his eyes. “You want me to meet your parents for the first time when I have to cook a meal for a holiday I literally have next to no concept of how to celebrate, because I’m from Jesusville, Georgia, and you want me to have to do it on a weekend when every pathetic asshole in Providence is going to want to be shoving fives in my shorts?”

“Fair point.” Jack kissed Bitty’s forehead and reached for his phone. “One condition, though.”

“What’s that?” 

Jack picked up his phone and hit the FaceTime button. “You’re telling her that.”

“I’m what?” Eric hissed as it rang.

His mother picked up after two rings. “Hey, Maman,” he said. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Maman said. “Oh! Is that Eric?”

“Um.” Bitty’s eyes were like saucers. “Wow, your son is an asshole.”

Maman laughed so hard she snorted. “No warning, eh?”

“Absolutely none. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“You too,” she said and then leaned away from the phone. “Bob! Viens ici, Eric est sur le FaceTime, Jack veut qu’on le taquine un peu.”

“Oh my god,” Bitty said, burying his head in his hands.

Bob came into the frame, which led to some jostling. “Eric! You’re real! We were worried for a little Jack had made up an imaginary boyfriend, you were just too perfect.”

“Hey!" Jack said. Bitty cackled. “I literally mailed you the newspaper photo of us!”

“Photoshop,” Bob said. 

“These are my parents,” Jack said to Bitty. “They’re horrible people.”

“Hush,” Bitty said, and leaned towards the phone. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t think we can make it up for Passover. Holiday weekends are always super busy, I just don’t think I can get away.”

“No problem,” Maman said. “But let’s try for Rosh Hashanah? It really would be nice to do a big family holiday again soon.”

Bitty glanced at Jack. “September,” Jack supplied. 

“I’ll pencil it in now,” Bitty said. 

“Now, I have a question,” Maman said. “Are you any good at sponge cakes? Because if I’m going to Bob’s sister’s house, then I really need a dessert that can shut her up. But every Passover dessert I try to make ends up tasting like sawdust.”

“I’m certain I can help,” Bitty said. “Talk me through your standard recipe, and let’s troubleshoot it.” 

Jack leaned on Bitty’s knee, closed his eyes, and listened to his mother and his boyfriend discuss the finer points of meringue.

***

« Here it is, » Jack said as they stepped into Wildcats. 

« It looks much less creepy than it did in that first news story, » Maman said, looking around critically.

« Categorically the best smelling strip club I’ve ever been in. How do you make it smell like apple pie? » Papa offered.

« That would be the apple pie, » Jack said. « We’ll order some.  Bits makes the ice cream, too. » He looked around and saw the new girl, Foxy, and waved. She winked and pointed towards the bar. « Come on, he’s apparently near the bar. »

They made their way across the floor, snaking between tables and trying not to block anyone’s view too badly. A couple of the regulars recognized him; he said hi, but kept pushing through and hoped nobody recognized his parents. Bitty was the customer service side of this relationship, one hundred percent. 

Jack was looking for him in one of his dancing outfits—he knew the schedule well enough to know that Bitty had twenty more minutes before he had to go back to get warmed up for his next number—but instead he found him standing next to the bar, wearing skin-tight jeans and an artistically distressed and bedazzled Wildcats t-shirt. (Lardo had made everyone who had to be on the floor wearing normal clothes a couple of personalized ones; Dex’s had rolled plaid sleeves and some loops to hang bar tools from, Holster’s had been cut to a muscle shirt but with a pocket for pens and paperwork, and Jack’s, to his everlasting shame but also delight, had little maple leaves and bird wings in a pattern on the collar and hems.) Bitty came over to give him a kiss, and then greeted his parents. “I’m so glad you’re here! You’ve eaten already, right? I’ll have the kitchen do the dessert sampler for you. You want the drink pairings?”

“Bitty, why aren’t you dressed?” Jack said, wrapping his arm around Bitty’s shoulder. 

Bitty raised an eyebrow and gestured to his clothes.

“No, I mean,” Jack said. “Aren’t you on in thirty?”

“Oh,” Bitty said, and Jack could see him blush even in the dim bar light. “Well, I knew your folks were coming, honey, and I didn’t want to miss out on getting to host them properly.”

“Really?” Alicia said. “We were looking forward to seeing you on the stage!”

“Jack keeps trying to describe your tricks to us, but it doesn’t really make any sense without the visual,” Bob said, his eyes wandering to where Cait was working it on the stage. (Her choreography was much more solid since Bitty had started working with her, he’d noticed. She was also two months from starting her practicum, which meant they were gonna be down a dancer.)

“Well, I mean—“ Bitty said, and cleared his throat. 

“Who did you swap with?” Jack asked. 

“Um. Ransom,” Bitty said, cringing a little.

Jack grasped him by both shoulders. “Bitty. I thought you liked my parents.”

“He’s improved a lot?”

“That says very very little,” Jack said. 

Bitty glanced over at Jack’s parents and leaned in, spoke quieter. “Sweetheart. You cannot actually want me to dance with your parents here.”

Jack squeezed his shoulders a little and tried his most authoritative voice. “Get your head in the game, Bittle.”

“Oh my God,” Bitty said, and punched him solidly in the shoulder. Jack actually had to step back a bit. “You did not just try to captain this strip club.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you would just go backstage and get ready,” Jack countered. 

“Ugh, fine.” Bitty shook his head. “Sit in the right back corner. Nowhere near the stage, one hundred and fifty percent out of tipping distance. I’ll do Lemme Get That, it’s got the upside down pole work you are so obsessed with.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jack said, and suppressed the temptation to slap Bitty’s ass as he headed to the dressing room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Allô, maman? - Hi, Mom?
> 
> Tu vas acheter un maison? - You’re going to buy a house? (Assume the previous line was Jack saying “the Haus” in the middle of a French sentence, and then his mom thinking he’d codeswitched to English.)
> 
> Salut? - Hi? (Informal/casual—the ‘hi’ above is the one you only really use on the phone)
> 
> Je pense que non what? - I don’t think so what? (Bitty is repeating the first part of what Jack said in the previous paragraph. I don’t assume he knows a lot of French, but that’s a fairly common phrase he might know enough context to figure out.)
> 
> Bob! Viens ici, Eric est sur le FaceTime, Jack veut qu’on le taquine un peu. - Bob! Come here, Eric is on FaceTime, Jack wants us to tease him a bit. (Incidentally, if any speakers of Québécois have a better translation of ‘chirp’ than ‘taquiner,’ let me know. I have access to literally dozens of Francophones every day, but all through my work or parenting life, where I can’t be like “hey, for fan fiction purposes, how would you say...”. Sadly.)


	2. we end up takin' the long way home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty sighed. “I was thinking about calling my mama.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can guess from the summary, this is The Angst Chapter, though everything goes fine. But, you know. FYI.

Jack came home from practice to find Bitty sitting at the dining room table, staring at his phone. “Bud? You good?”

“Yeah, sweetpea,” Bitty said, turning his phone over. “How was practice?”

“We’re gonna be shit without Tater for the next game,” Jack said. “So let’s just pray his ankle heals up fast. What’s up, though?”

Bitty sighed. “I was thinking about calling my mama.”

Oh. This was going to be a Conversation. Jack sat down at the table next to him. “You never really told me about why you don’t talk to them any more.”

“I know,” Bitty said. “I’m sorry. It’s just hard to talk about.”

“I guessed,” Jack said, and took Bitty’s hand. He’d started doing a new thing where he always reached out first with his left hand, as if the metal on his finger might magically convince Bitty that everything was fine if only it came it contact with his skin. 

Bitty ran his thumb across Jack’s ring gently. “It wasn’t—they didn’t throw me out.”

“Okay.” Jack had heard Bitty say _I can’t go back to Georgia_ once, so he’s pretty sure that’s a technicality. 

“It was—“ Bitty sighed. “I knew they wouldn’t be happy with me being gay. The church we went to, it was awful. Every time there was anything on the news about gay rights, I had to hear two earfuls of it from Coach. And he was always just...watching me, waiting for me to slip up and be too gay in front of him. They made me quit skating, and made me feel like it was my fault I had a target on my back at school. And then, I was graduating, and—“ He sighed. “I applied to all these schools up north, you know? Just to get out. But I didn’t get very much financial aid, and my parents weren’t willing to sign any loans or anything. They said I could do a couple of years at the community college, transfer to UGA once I’d saved up some money to pay, but the idea of spending a couple more years in fucking Madison, having to hide everything—I couldn’t do it, Jack. I wouldn’t have survived it.”

Jack wrapped an arm around Bitty’s shoulder. “So you left?”

Bitty pressed his face into Jack’s shoulder. His voice was barely a whisper. “I cleaned out my bank account, I took as much as I could fit in a duffel, and I left a note when they were both out at work. I told them I was gay, that I knew they didn’t approve, that I was going to Atlanta to stay with somebody I knew, and that I was keeping my phone, so they could call me if they wanted to talk to me, or they could cut me off the plan if they didn’t want me to ever come back. And they didn’t cut off the plan, but they never called, so. I didn’t know what that meant. When my phone broke and I lost that number, I wrote them an email and gave them this number, told them I had left Atlanta and was up north, but no details. It didn’t bounce, but they didn’t reply, so.”

Jack kissed the top of Bitty’s head. “You’re so brave. To have done what you needed to be ok. I mean, I couldn’t do anything like that, when things got bad for me.”

“Oh, honey,” Bitty said. “I just did the best I could.” 

“Yeah, that’s why you’re amazing,” Jack said. 

They sat there for a long minute, Bitty breathing into Jack’s shoulder. Then he pushed his face into Jack harder, like a cat demanding dinner, and lifted his chin up to meet Jack’s eyes. “I want to tell her. I want her to know I’m happy. I want her to know I’m getting married. And if she’s not happy about any of that, I want to know so I never have to think about her again.”

Jack nodded. “Then you should call her.”

Bitty took a deep breath and picked up the phone. “I’m putting her on speaker. Don’t talk, though.”

“I’m not here,” Jack said, pulling Bitty onto his lap. 

The phone rang three times, and Jack was trying to guess what Bitty would do with an answering machine when a woman’s voice picked up. “Hello?”

Bitty took a deep breath. “Mama? It’s Dicky.”

There was a gasp at the other end of the line. “Dicky? Are you—“

“I’m fine, Mama,” Bitty said quickly. “I’m good.”

“I can’t believe—“ This gasp sounded like Mrs. Bittle was on the verge of tears. “Are you—where are you?”

“I’m at home, Mama, in Providence.”

“I—I don’t even know where that is.” She laughed a little, nervously.

Bitty laughed too. “It’s in Rhode Island. A bit south of Boston. It’s a decent little town. I like it a lot.”

“It must get so cold,” his mother said.

“Ugh, I wouldn’t wish a New England February on my worst enemy,” Bitty said. “But it’s real pretty most of the time. The ocean is just gorgeous, even though it’s too cold to swim. And the fall’s real nice too.”

“Well,” Mrs. Bittle said, and there was an awkward pause. “Dicky. Are you really okay? It’s been so long.”

“I’m great, Mama, honest,” Bitty said. 

“I’ve been so worried,” Mrs. Bittle said, and Jack tried to repress the desire to shout out _you’ve had his number the whole time_. “You were so young when you left, and I didn’t know—I didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay, Mama,” Bitty said, and the way he can forgive the woman who drove him out of his home is among the reasons Bitty is the best person Jack knows. “I was young, but I did okay. It could have been a lot worse.” And it really could have been, so Jack kissed him on the cheek, just a little thank you prayer to the universe. 

“Well,” Mrs Bittle said, and cleared her throat. “What are you doing up in Providence? Are you in school?”

“Uh, no,” Bitty said, and Jack knew he was a bit insecure about never having gone to college, so squeezed him a bit. “No, I actually work as the manager at a bar.” He glanced over at Jack. Jack nodded enthusiastically, because that was...basically what Wildcats was. Sort of. A bar with an extensive kitchen menu and a lot of naked people. “It’s a good job, and the place is doing real well.”

“Oh,” his mother said, and she didn’t sound disapproving as much as surprised. “Well, that’s—is it interesting?”

“Absolutely,” Bitty said. “The stories I could tell you, Mama, honestly.” 

“And, uh. Do you have a lot of friends?” Jack wondered if she meant friends, or if she couldn’t bring herself to ask if he was seeing anyone. 

Bitty glanced over at Jack and smiled. “I do, Mama. I’ve got a lot of folks up here taking care of me. But, uh. That’s actually why I was calling.”

“Oh?”

Bitty bit his lip. “Mama, I’m getting married.”

“What?” she fairly screeched. 

Bitty giggled. “I, um. I proposed to my boyfriend last month, and he said yes.”

“Oh my goodness gracious,” Mrs. Bittle said, sounding actually excited. “Oh, Dicky, that’s just—I’ve been so worried that you were lonely, that you wouldn’t find your place, because we couldn’t—we couldn’t help you the way you needed us to.”

“It’s okay, Mama,” Bitty said, voice trembling. 

“It isn’t,” his mother said, and took a deep breath. “You never should have had to leave. Your daddy and I, we should have listened better. But you’re—you sound so happy, Dicky. And you’ve got friends and a good job and—and now you’re getting married, and I’m just—I’m sorry we failed you. But I’m so happy that you’re okay.” 

“I am, Mama,” Bitty said, tears running down his face. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, baby,” his mother said. They were quiet for a minute, while Bitty dried his face. Before the silence stretched too long, Mrs. Bittle cleared her throat. “Can I...I’d like to meet your fiancé. If I can.”

“Yeah, you can. I, uh. I don’t really want to come down there, but you could come up. Or, well. Do you have Skype? Or FaceTime? Because I can introduce you right now, if you like.”

“Is he there? He’s not at work?”

Bitty smiled at Jack. “Yeah, he’s right here. He’s got, uh. Funny hours.”

“Let me just—I need to go get my cell phone. Is it still the 401 number?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Bitty said. “FaceTime me right back, okay?”

“I will, honey. Love you.”

Bitty hung up the phone. “She’s going to wash her face, I’m sure of it.”

“You want to?”

“Oh, please,” Bitty said, and dashed into the kitchen.

The phone rang with a FaceTime request from a 706 number as soon as they’d gotten themselves settled on the couch. Bitty took a deep breath and answered it. 

His mother was younger than Jack was expecting, with Bitty’s blond hair and open face. “Oh, Dicky,” she said, and smiled. “You look so grown up!”

Bitty laughed. “Lord, mother, I would hope so!”

“And this is your gentleman,” she said, and her smile didn’t seem forced. 

“Hi,” Jack said. “I’m Jack. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Bittle.” 

“Oh, please call me Suzanne,” she said. “So, how did you and Dicky meet?”

“Um.” Jack mentally ran a conservative-parent-safety filter over their actual meeting story. “I, uh, used to go to the bar he worked at with my work friends. And we just hit it off.”

“That’s so sweet,” she said. “Are you from Providence?”

“No, I’m Canadian,” Jack said. “My parents still live in Montreal, but I came to the States for university, and then moved here for work.”

“And what do you do?” 

Jack looked over at Bitty to double check, and Bitty made a little _up to you_ facial expression. “Well. I play hockey, actually.”

“How nice!” she said. “I don’t really follow hockey. I don’t know if Dicky told you, but his daddy’s a football coach at the high school here. I know how hard those boys work, so I guess it’s the same for you.”

“Pretty much,” Jack said. “Plus the knives on our shoes part.”

“Did Dicky tell you he used to ice skate?” 

And Jack knew that that was still a sore spot for Bitty, so he threw a distraction. “Yeah, Dicky has,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Bitty. 

“Oh, hush,” Bitty said, giving him a shove. “Nobody calls me Dicky anymore, Mama. I go by Eric, mostly, or people call me Bitty.”

“Oh,” his mother said, frowning. “All right then. Should I...”

“No, it’s fine,” Bitty said. “I know it’s what you’re used to.”

On the other side of the call, there was the sound of a door opening. Suzanne glanced up, and Jack could feel Bitty tense next to him. “That’s your daddy,” she said quietly. “I think he’d like to see you too, if you’re up for that.”

“Will he want to meet Jack?” Bitty said, his voice firm, the _I only want to talk to him if he’ll accept me_ unspoken.

“I think it would be good for him,” Suzanne said, equally firm, and Jack had a pretty good idea of what the past five years have been like in the Bittle household.

Bitty nodded, and his mother called out, “Richard? Come here, Dicky’s on the FaceTime.”

“What?” said a man’s voice, and then fast heavy footsteps. Richard Bittle looked the part of the southern football coach, and his mustache would have impressed Shitty, but he had Bitty’s eyes, just older. “Junior? That’s you?”

“Hi, Coach,” Bitty said, more guarded than with his mother. “It’s good to see you.”

“You in trouble, son?”

Bitty smiled. “No, I’m fine, Coach. Everything’s okay.”

“Then what—“ Mr. Bittle seemed to notice Jack for the first time. “Who’s that with you there?”

“That’s his fiancé, honey,” Suzanne said. “Dicky’s getting married.” 

“He—what?”

“This is Jack,” Bitty said, gesturing to him. “I met him up here in Providence, at the bar I work at. And we’re getting married in the summer.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Jack said. 

Mr. Bittle leaned a little closer to the phone. “You look—have I seen you on TV?”

“Um, yeah, possibly,” Jack said, and could feel himself blushing. 

“Jack’s a professional hockey player,” Bitty said. “He’s one of the captains of his team up here in Providence.”

“Hold on,” Mr. Bittle said. “Are you Jack Zimmermann?”

“Wait,” Suzanne said. “Is he related to—“

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Bob’s my dad.” 

“Oh my goodness,” Suzanne said. “I had the biggest poster of your daddy on my wall growing up.”

“Ugh, _Mother_ ,” Bitty said, covering his face with his hand. 

But Richard’s face looked like he was trying to remember something. “Hold on there. Didn’t I hear a news story about you—“

“Winning the Mark Messier trophy last year?” Bitty cut in. “Yes, indeed you did.” He was giving his father some kind of very specific look, which Jack couldn’t quite interpret. 

“Yeah,” Richard said, looking like he got what Bitty was telling him.

“Dicky and Jack were just saying we should come up and visit them in Providence,” Suzanne said. “Maybe we could go see a game?”

“Yeah,” Richard said, nodding. He looked between them. “So, uh. I don’t know how it works, when, you know. When it’s two men getting married. Is there, uh. A ring or something?”

Jack held up his hand to show it off. “He proposed on my birthday, actually.”

“And you’re planning the wedding for this summer?” Suzanne said. 

Jack shrugged. “We’d do it sooner, but my schedule isn’t really flexible. We’re just having it at my parents’ place.”

“I guess we’ll need passports then,” Suzanne said, and then hesitated. “I mean. If you want us there.”

“If you want to be there, you’re welcome,” Bitty said. 

An alarm went off on Jack’s phone, and he glanced down. “Oh. I need to be getting ready for work,” he said, noticing that it was almost nap time and he still hadn’t had lunch.

“Why don’t I call you in a couple of days, and we can talk about scheduling for you two coming up for a visit?” Bitty said.

“Okay,” Suzanne said, and she looked like she was going to cry again. “I love you, Dicky. I’m so glad you called.”

“I love you too,” Bitty said, holding himself together. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

They hung up, and Bitty dropped his phone and took a deep breath. “That was pretty good, I think.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Jack said. “It really does sound like they’re going to make an effort.”

“Ugh, assuming Coach keeps his big mouth shut,” Bitty said, pressing a hand over his eyes dramatically. “He knows about the club.”

“What?”

“The thing, where I interrupted him about the trophy. The man doesn’t watch anything but ESPN, he must have seen a piece about the strike or you buying the club. Bet you a peach pie he’s gonna google it and find my name in all the articles. Or the photos.”

“Oh,” Jack said. “And that...that’s bad?”

“Well,” Bitty said. “It’s bad if they decide they were ok with me being gay, but not a gay stripper.”

“That’s just stupid, though,” Jack said. “Like, objectively, being gay is a bigger deal.”

“Nobody ever taught you about respectability politics in your fancy degree, huh,” Bitty said, squinting from between his fingers.

“Point taken.” Jack kisses his cheek. “I’m proud of you. For calling them. And for standing up to them.”

“Thanks, honey,” Bitty said. “I wanna make you lunch, but I’ve got a feelings hangover.”

“I’ll microwave the risotto for us,” Jack said. His schedule will be a little off today, but that’s okay.

***

_706-555-1234: You sounded real good on TV talking about the strike, Junior._

_Bitty: Thanks, Coach._

_706-555-1234: It’s a good place to work?_

_Bitty: It is now that I’m running it._

_706–555-1234: Your boy set it up for you?_

_Bitty: He’s kinda into grand gestures._

_706-555-1234: Well. That’s good, then._

_706-555-1234: Let’s keep this from your mother, though._

_Bitty: Good idea._


	3. interlude - the dancers don't mind at the New Orleans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Parse: dude take me to your strip club after the game next week_
> 
>  
> 
> _Jack: Okay?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a full chapter, but a brief aside. Enjoy the diversion.

_Parse: dude take me to your strip club after the game next week_

_Jack: Okay?_

_Parse: like me and swoops are super down for it. we’ll tweet the whole thing._

_Jack: It’s literally open to the public, you don’t need my permission to come by._

_Parse: nah bro. like, we want the vip experience. bottle service. hottest dancers. famous people treatment. e p i c_

_Jack: Considering banning you preemptively._

***

Despite the overtime loss, Parse seemed to cheer right up as soon as he arrived at Wildcats. Holster fanboyed over him for a while, which was ridiculous because there were literally hockey players in here every night, including frequently a giant Russian one behind the bar. But Parse loved that stuff. Soon enough, he and Swoops were planted at the Falcs’ usual table, with Tater and Snowy engaging them in detailed gossip about people Jack had never heard of, but who he figured out from context clues were performers with shows in Vegas. Dex brought out the appetizer sampler and distributed beers all around, and Ransom came by to chat (and also apparently fanboy a little—Jack was starting to feel slighted). Parse tweeted selfies with both of them, and also threw twice as much money on stage for Nursey as he did for Lardo, which did not end up on Twitter. 

Jack had been wondering where Bitty was hiding, but he finally came to their table with the dessert tray. He was dressed to dance, even though he wasn’t usually on the Wednesday night schedule. He made sure to have his ass right at Parse’s eye level as he situated the tray on the table, and then stood up and examined him critically. 

“Hey,” Parse said, his most suave voice in full effect. “I’m Kent Parson.” He held out his hand.

Bitty looked him up and down. “Hmm,” he said, and turned to Jack. “Well, your taste’s improved.” And he sashayed away, working his hips a bit more than he normally did.

Parse clutched his chest like he’d been stabbed. “Daaaaaaamn, son,” Snowy said, while Tater and Swoops hooted like hysterical owls. 

Jack followed Bitty with his eyes, and caught the subtle come-hither gesture he gave him. “I’ll be, uh, right back,” Jack said, and followed Bitty into the dressing room. He knew what was good for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my favorite trash!Kent, from [You Want In Or Out?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16639730)


	4. folks'll wonder 'bout the wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know, dude. Why do we let the state govern our intimate relationships? Why has our culture managed to turn the transfer of women as property into a moment of ultimate consumerism? Why are cake smashes so fucking tacky, man? Why anything?”

“I’m going to throw up,” Jack said from his childhood bed, where he was laying with a pillow over his face.

“No, you aren’t,” Shitty said from the desk chair where he was spinning idly. “It would mess up your outfit, and then Bits will straight-up murder you.”

“Urgh.” Jack pulled the pillow away. “Why is getting married such a production?”

“I don’t know, dude. Why do we let the state govern our intimate relationships? Why has our culture managed to turn the transfer of women as property into a moment of ultimate consumerism? Why are cake smashes so fucking tacky, man? Why anything?”

Lardo threw open the door. “Bitty can’t find his hair stuff. Is it in here?” Jack pointed to the bathroom, and she stomped in. “Jack, my man, stop laying down, if you get wrinkles in that shit we’re gonna have to delay the ceremony to iron.” 

“So what, I should just levitate until the photos are taken?” he said, rolling to sit.

“If that’s what it takes, yes,” Lardo said, stomping back out with three of Bitty’s unidentifiable tubes in her hands. “Or just get naked,” she shouted behind her.

“Naked?” Shitty said, reaching for his tie. 

“NOT YOU,” Lardo and Jack said simultaneously.

Tired of waiting in his room like a prince in a tower, Jack wandered down to go to the backyard. That was normal, right, for him to be involved in the set up? He opened up the French doors onto the porch, and immediately took a football to the chest. He fumbled it for a moment and finally managed to hold onto it. “Ow?”

“Sorry, son,” his dad said, coming over. “I didn’t get your flower, did I?”

Jack examined his boutiniere, which was fine. His chest hurt, because footballs were pointy, but that was apparently secondary today. “I’m fine. What are you doing?”

“Richard is trying to teach me to throw a spiral.” He gestured to Bitty’s dad, who was standing with him at one end of the porch. They’d both draped their jackets over chairs, and set up a hula hoop at the other end to throw the ball at. “I’m terrible, I can’t throw straight to save my life.”

“You’re improving,” Richard said, which meant he was pretty bad.

“Bitty loves taking me bowling,” Jack said. “Because he wins by a hundred points each time.” He threw the ball over to Richard; it tumbled end-over-end in exactly the way it wasn’t supposed to.

“I guess y’all are specialists,” Richard said, with a shrug. 

Jack wandered out to where the chairs were set up, on the wooden stage platform they used to cover the ice rink when it was too warm to keep it properly frozen. Ransom, Holster, and Tater were trying to make sure all the decorations were properly arranged. “You guys doing okay?”

“No,” said Tater. “Is disaster. You sure you and Bitty need to marry?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “You want me to get Lardo?”

“No, she have important job. Need to keep Bitty from going insane.”

“Get somebody’s mom. Moms know how to do this shit,” Ransom said, tangled up in a bunch of tulle. 

“That’s gender essentialist,” Jack muttered under his breath, because he had been spending entirely too much time with Shitty ranting about compulsory heteronormativity in the run up to the wedding. Jack just hoped he kept it out of the actual ceremony text; Bitty had demanded final script approval, but Shitty had been known to improvise. He looked around the yard; his mom was nowhere he could see, but Suzanne was fussing away at the pre-ceremony hors d’œuvres table, so he headed for her. “Hi, Suzanne? I think the boys need help with decorating.” 

“Oh!” she said, startling away from fiddling with the flowers. “Oh my goodness, they really don’t have any clue, do they.”

Jack looked over. Ransom was climbing on Holster’s shoulders to try to get the chuppah centered, while Tater kept yelling “Left! Right! No, other right!” to try to direct them. Eventually, they knocked it down. “Not in the least.”

“Lord’s sakes. Don’t they all work at the bar? Haven’t they ever had to decorate anything?”

“Bitty handles most of the day-to-day decor. And Lardo’s the designer. Holster’s the money guy and—“ Um. “And anyway, Tater’s a hockey player, all he knows how to do is knock smaller guys over.”

Suzanne looked over at Jack and smirked. “Jack. Do you honestly think I don’t know how to google?”

“Um.” Jack didn’t know precisely what she was saying. 

“Dicky posted a very nice video of Justin dancing on the Wildcats’ Twitter last week,” she said, patting his arm. 

“Um,” Jack said, trying not to turn too pink.

“Probably best Richard hasn’t figured it out yet,” she said. “Anyway, I’ll just go help them out.” She headed over towards the chairs. 

“Yeah,” Jack said to himself, and blew out a breath. “There’s no way that’s not going to end up being awkward.”

He avoided people for a while longer, eventually wandering back into the house and heading to his parents’ room. His mom was in there, finishing her makeup. He remembered being a child in this room, watching her get ready for parties, for galas, for meetings with producers, the precision with which she wielded her tools, the focus in her eyes. « Can I hide in here? » he asked.

« Sure, darling, » she said. « What’s happening outside? »

« Things, » he said, sitting down on the bed. 

« Too much? »

« Basically. » He watched her as she put down one brush, picked up another. « It’s not a bad thing that I’m nervous, right? »

« You’ve never liked being on stage, » maman said. « You always want to have a job, and today your only job is to be stared at. So it makes perfect sense that you’re nervous. »

« It doesn’t secretly mean I’m going to be a terrible husband? »

« You’re already a good husband, » she said. « Today you’re just throwing a party about it. » She applied her lipstick with care, and then set it down. « I’m finished. Let’s go downstairs. It will be photo time soon. »

He stood up and offered her a hand. « You look wonderful. »

« So do you, sweetheart. » Maman kissed him on the cheek, looped her arm in his, and guided him to the staircase.

They were talking quietly about the music as they came around the turn in the stairs, and then Jack pulled up short and nearly missed the next step, because Bitty was standing in the living room, his hair shining bright in the sun streaming in through the picture windows, his back straight and his smile soft. His mother was standing in front of him, holding his hands and talking to him in a quiet voice. “Oh,” Jack said quietly, and Bitty looked up at him. Their eyes met, and Jack felt his smile growing across his face. 

“Oh, darling,” Maman said. “Come on. You’ll feel better when you and Eric are together.”

He did, always. He vaguely heard the camera shutter noise from somewhere behind him, and supposed that later he would be glad the photographer was capturing this, but it didn’t seem important, not next to getting within touching distance of Bitty. His mother let go of his arm, and Bitty’s mother put her hands on Bitty’s back and guided him forward. Bitty stepped into Jack’s arms and rested his head against his chest. “Hi,” Jack whispered, pulling him closer. 

Bitty took a deep breath. “Hi. Don’t mess up my hair.”

“Okay,” Jack said, and closed his eyes. 

Soon it was time for pre-wedding photos, and for greeting guests as they started to trickle in, and for being pried apart from Bitty for reasons that Suzanne said were ‘traditional’ and Shitty muttered were ‘patriarchal bullshit.’ (“Isn’t that the same thing?” Jack said. “Brah, you’re picking up what I’m putting down,” Shitty said proudly, offering a fist bump.) And then it was time, finally, the guests nudged to their seats by the collective efforts of Tater and Holster, the music at the right volume, Shitty waiting under the chuppah with his notecards, Jack and Bitty standing back on the porch with their parents, waiting for their cue. 

“Well, son? You ready?” Papa asked him. 

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Bits?”

“Absolutely,” Bitty said, and took Jack’s hand. “Okay, give Lardo the cue.” 

Alicia waved, and Lardo fiddled with the sound system. The string music that Bitty had picked after a long and elaborate decision began to play. 

“Wait,” Papa said. “Did we ever decide which parents go first?”

Everyone looked around, hoping that someone else had the answer. “Um,” Bitty said. “Any ideas?”

After a long hesitation, Papa spoke. “Suzanne? May I have the honor?” he said, holding out his arm.

Suzanne laughed. “Well, certainly, Bob. Why not?” 

Richard turned to Maman. “Ms. Alicia?”

“What a gentleman,” she said, stepping in to take his arm.

Papa and Suzanne stepped off first, with Maman and Richard following closely. “Okay, that’s actually kind of darling,” Bitty said under his breath.

“Yeah,” Jack said. 

Bitty looked up at him, and his smile was the widest Jack had ever seen. “What do you say, Mr. Zimmermann? Ready for me to make an honest man out of you?” He held out his hand.

“I love you,” Jack said, and took it. 

“I love you, sweetheart,” Bitty said. “Come on. Let’s kick this party off.”

“Okay,” Jack said.

They turned to face forward together, and stepped off up the aisle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I did the research, I can inform you that, in Quebec, any individual can officiate up to three weddings in their lifetime upon receiving permission from the Directeur d’état civil for each wedding. However, only citizens of Canada or residents of Quebec are eligible to apply. I didn’t think Ransom would be a very good officiant, so therefore Bitty and Jack were legally married the day before at the local courthouse, and Shitty’s job has no legal implications. Spoiler: he 100% works some of his rant about the patriarchy into the ceremony, but Bitty and Jack mostly approve. [Here](http://www.etatcivil.gouv.qc.ca/en/marriage-civil-union.html) is what the DEC has to say about getting married, and [here](https://www.justice.gouv.qc.ca/en/couples-and-families/marriage-civil-union-and-de-facto-union/) is what the Ministère de la justice has to say. There, now I’ve saved you some googling. 
> 
> Thank you for joining me on this romp with this particular Jack and Bitty! I’m certain I’ll come up with some more hijinks for them to have in the future; they’re just too fun.


End file.
